


Sherlock: One

by IBegToDreamAndDiffer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anniversary, Doctor Who References, Family, Friendship, M/M, Prompt Fill, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-06 16:25:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/737718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IBegToDreamAndDiffer/pseuds/IBegToDreamAndDiffer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One year, one person, one emotion. Sherlock has special plans for his and John’s anniversary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock: One

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note:** I wrote this ages ago for **itsaroyalfizzbin** over on FF.Net.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** Sherlock belongs to the BBC, Mark Gatiss, and Steven Moffat. The original characters are the property of Arthur Conan Doyle. I own nothing but the plot and make no money from this story.

As the new month approached, John grew more irritated. Sherlock noticed (of course he noticed) but every time he asked, John brushed him off. He forced a smile and changed the subject.

Sherlock was worried. It took him far longer then it should have to work out why John was upset.

It was their one year anniversary in six days. It took another few minutes after the first realisation to put everything else together.

John was annoyed because he thought Sherlock wouldn’t want to celebrate their one year anniversary. Of course he thought that; Sherlock hated celebrating anything that didn’t involve cigarettes, dead bodies, or a naked John Watson. He hated celebrating his birthday or Mycroft’s or John’s and Greg’s. Of course he tried to act like he cared but really, what was the point of celebrating the fact that you were one year closer to death?

Of course this would be different. It wasn’t a birthday or Christmas or anything as stupid as that. It was the day that Sherlock Holmes and John Watson had moved from friends to lovers. It was the day John had grabbed Sherlock’s hands and kissed him softly. It was the day everything changed for Sherlock.

Lying on the couch, Sherlock frowned and pressed his hands together. What would John want to do for their anniversary? Could Sherlock just ask him?

No, John would say he didn’t want anything special, John never wanted anything; just Sherlock.

That was enough to have the genius standing and getting dressed after John went to work. He grabbed a cab to Scotland Yard and breezed through the place, ignoring the people who glared at him.

He reached Lestrade’s office and didn’t bother knocking, having noted the closed blinds as he approached. With a smirk, Sherlock pushed the door open.

Greg Lestrade was standing to the left, right hand pushed against the wall, other pushed up Mycroft Holmes’ waistcoat and raking along his back. Mycroft was leaning against the wall, drooping slightly as Greg attacked his lips, one arm behind his back, the other hand gripping Greg’s hair tightly.

They broke apart as the door bashed into the wall, Sherlock unwinding his scarf as both men jumped. Greg stepped back quickly, wiping his kiss swollen lips.

‘Um, I was just–’

‘Snogging my big brother, yes,’ Sherlock cut him off, waving a hand. ‘I already know you and my brother are together, Lestrade. Seven months if I’m not mistaken.’

Greg stared with wide eyes as Mycroft stood tall, smoothing down his waistcoat and straightening his tie.

‘You know?’

‘Of course I know,’ Sherlock said.

Greg turned to look at Mycroft, the elder Holmes smiling as he pulled his jacket back on. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

Mycroft shrugged, running his hands through his hair. ‘It didn’t seem important,’ he said before smiling at his partner. ‘And sneaking around is rather fun.’

Greg sighed and rolled his eyes. ‘Well then, what do you want, Sherlock? I’d rather be snogging your brother then talking to you.’

‘I need your help,’ Sherlock said, the worry in his voice making Mycroft and Greg look at him.

‘What is it, brother?’ Mycroft asked.

When Sherlock didn’t answer Greg went to sit down, gesturing to the two seats before his desk. Sherlock fell into one, his brother sitting gracefully in the other and crossing his legs. He gave Sherlock his full attention, fiddling with the umbrella that had been leaning against the desk.

‘Soon it will be John’s and my one year anniversary.’

‘Really?’ Greg said, Sherlock nodding. ‘Wow, a whole year.’

‘Yes,’ Sherlock said, ‘and I want to do something special.’

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. ‘You do? I was under the assumption you didn’t celebrate... anything.’

‘This is different,’ Sherlock explained. ‘It’s not a birthday or Christmas or some rubbish holiday. It’s the one year anniversary of John making me the happiest man in the world. I know he wants to celebrate.’

‘Has he said anything?’ Greg asked.

‘Of course not,’ Mycroft answered before Sherlock could. ‘My brother has made it clear he is not the celebratory type and John has taken that to mean that this will be just another day.’

‘But it isn’t,’ Sherlock said, ‘and I don’t know what do to.’

‘Romantic dinner,’ Mycroft said. ‘Shower John in love and tell him how much he means to you.’

‘That’s it?’ Sherlock asked.

‘It’s the thought that counts, little brother,’ Mycroft said. ‘The simple fact that you remembered and wanted to acknowledge the day as something special will make John happy.’

‘What do I get him?’ Sherlock questioned. ‘I understand that gifts are obligatory.’

‘Well, he likes Doctor Who,’ Greg said.

Sherlock snorted. ‘I need real help, Lestrade, not information on John’s favourite show.’

‘No, hear me out,’ Greg said. ‘John loves Doctor Who, it’s always been there for him. When he was a kid he watched it and pretended he was going on adventures with the Doctor because he thought life was so boring. He managed to watch a bit on the internet when he was in Afghanistan and it helped him get through the war.

‘I mean, if you think about it, John’s a bit like the Doctor,’ Greg continued, Sherlock and Mycroft both raising eyebrows. ‘He became a doctor to help people, he joined the army to help people, and he helps people with you,’ Greg said to Sherlock. ‘You take him on adventures, you show him the danger of the world, the fun. His life’s a bit like Doctor Who.’

Sherlock stared, brows coming together. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘My point is,’ Greg said, ‘that Doctor Who is more than a show for John. It’s something that’s always been there for him. It makes him laugh and cry and feel better about his own life. Don’t knock it just because you dislike it, Sherlock. Doctor Who is... it’s important to John. If you get him something to do with that he’ll love it, I guarantee it.’

Sherlock was still frowning but he thought about Greg’s words carefully. ‘And it... won’t be strange because he’s an adult?’

‘No,’ Greg said, ‘Doctor Who is more than a kid’s show, Sherlock. Besides, I’d personally love a heap of Doctor Who stuff for my one year anniversary.’ He turned and looked at Mycroft. ‘Hint, hint.’

Mycroft chuckled and said, ‘Hint taken, Gregory.’

‘Okay,’ Sherlock said and stood. ‘So... Doctor Who and romance?’

‘Yes,’ Mycroft said and Greg nodded.

‘Lestrade, can I watch the DVD’s at your flat? I need to research the show and I don’t want John catching me watching Doctor Who.’

‘Sure,’ Greg said and threw Sherlock his keys. ‘By the way, he loves Daleks.’

Sherlock tossed the keys back to the DI and turned to leave. ‘I don’t need keys, Lestrade.’

Greg looked at Mycroft as the younger Holmes left.

‘He’s going to break in,’ Mycroft explained.

Greg groaned and leaned back in his seat. ‘Fucking Holmeses.’

Mycroft smiled and fiddled with his umbrella. ‘So...’ he said slowly and Greg looked at him. ‘Where were we?’

Greg grinned and leaned across his desk, kissing the older Holmes softly.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


‘Sherlock, stop, you’re burning it.’

Sherlock scowled and allowed Mycroft to push past him, saving the steaks from certain to death.

‘It’s just like chemistry, Sherlock,’ Mycroft explained as he turned the steaks. ‘Add the right amount of ingredients, cook for a certain amount of minutes, and put everything together.’

‘It’s difficult,’ Sherlock said and sat on the counter, scowling. He was in his brother’s flat, Mycroft trying to teach him how to cook.

‘It is not,’ Mycroft said and turned the stove down. ‘Just stop turning everything on full blast.’

‘That’s the quickest way.’

‘Cooking is about taking your time,’ Mycroft said.

Sherlock folded his arms. ‘Who taught you how to cook?’ he questioned. He’d never bothered asking how his brother knew how to do everything.

‘My first boyfriend,’ Mycroft explained, pushing the steaks along before turning back to the salad.

‘Rory?’ Sherlock asked and Mycroft nodded. ‘I see.’

‘The only thing he was good for,’ Mycroft said and turned his brother’s attention to what he was doing. ‘Now, with this you add salt, pepper, a little bit of vinegar, and toss it all.’

Sherlock watched carefully, committing his brother’s movements and words to memory. ‘Do you do this for Lestrade?’

‘When I can,’ Mycroft said.

‘You’re lucky,’ Sherlock murmured, Mycroft look at him. ‘You know how to take care of your boyfriend.’

‘You take care of John too.’

‘No, I make him chase me across London and we get shot at.’

‘That’s what John wants,’ Mycroft said and Sherlock snorted. ‘Sherlock, if John wasn’t happy he wouldn’t still be with you, you wouldn’t be about to celebrate your one year anniversary. My relationship with Gregory is different to yours and John’s.’

‘But you can cook for Gregory,’ Sherlock said and slid off the counter.

‘And if you concentrate, you can cook for John too,’ Mycroft said.

Sherlock sighed and rubbed his eyes. ‘Fine, fine. Show me again.’

Mycroft smiled.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Sherlock cursed, a paper clip stabbing his thumb and making him growl. ‘Goddamn fucking stupid...’ he trailed off and bent the paper clip again, trying to get it into the right shape.

He closed his eyes to remember exactly what the alien looked like, fingers moving slowly and carefully as he bent another paper clip and attached it to the model he was trying to build.

‘Looks like a bloody salt shaker,’ he grumbled to himself. ‘What kind of stupid alien looks like a food utensil?’

‘Sherlock?’

Sherlock cursed as John stomped up the stairs, carrying a load of groceries. He swept the paper clips and models into a box and shoved them under the couch before falling back, trying to look like he’d been brooding all day.

‘Still on the couch?’ John tutted as he went into the kitchen.

Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief and said, ‘Yes. Lestrade has once again failed to come up with anything even remotely interesting.’

In actual fact, the DI had called Sherlock four times with interesting cases. Sherlock had refused to work, instead devoting his time to John’s gifts. Mycroft could help, he _was_ smarter, after all.

‘Maybe he’s just solved them himself,’ John said as he put the shopping away.

Sherlock snorted. ‘I very much doubt that, John.’

When he was done, the doctor headed into the living room, dropping his coat on his armchair. ‘So, dinner?’

Sherlock smiled and nodded, sitting up. ‘Would you like to cook or should we go out?’

John frowned as Sherlock stood, pulling his dressing gown off.

‘What?’ Sherlock asked.

‘Just... dinner, really? Usually we fight about it.’

Sherlock shrugged. ‘I _do_ eat on occasion, John.’ 

‘I know,’ John said. ‘Um, I suppose we can eat out? I don’t feel like cooking.’

‘Very well,’ Sherlock said and slipped into his suit jacket before grabbing his coat. ‘After you, my love.’

John chuckled and grabbed his jacket, smiling as Sherlock followed him from the flat.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


_Done_ , Sherlock finally decided as he drew the last thick, black line along the book. He’d already coloured it blue, adding white to the little box he’d had to draw. The notebook was looking very much like a certain blue box and Sherlock smiled as he set it aside.

The models were done and finished, Sherlock only having four cuts and minimal bruising. The wrapping paper was hidden under the couch along with the models, Sherlock now knew how to cook after twelve hours spent in his brother’s kitchen, and the book just had to dry before being covered.

Sherlock smiled and leaned back, quite pleased with himself. Tomorrow would be a day to remember.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


John yawned and rolled over, eyes blearily opening as he ran a hand through his hair. It took him a few minutes to realise that Sherlock’s side of the bed was cold and he groaned.

_Of course_ , the doctor thought. _March 4 was just another day to Sherlock_.

He didn’t want to be angry, really he didn’t, but he couldn’t help it. John knew that his boyfriend didn’t celebrate things like birthdays and Christmases and... anniversaries. But really, was it so much to ask for a kiss good morning? Maybe a little bit of sex?

John sighed and rolled over, grabbing his dressing gown and throwing it on. He might as well go downstairs and make breakfast, that’s if Sherlock hadn’t spent the night experimenting on the eggs again.

As John tied his dressing gown, something on the bedside table caught his eye. He froze, eyes going wide as he looked it over. He stepped forward and picked up the small model, a frown finding his lips.

It was a Dalek, about four centimetres tall, two wide. It was a wonderful replica made of silver paper clips, some bent and twisted to make the eye-stalk. Super glue had been used to stick some parts together but mostly the paper clips had been slotted together perfectly and with a still hand.

‘What the...’ John mumbled, turning the model in his fingers. He wondered if Sherlock had gone mad and decided to make weird things again. He’d gone through a period of making papier-mâché umbrellas and leaving them everywhere Mycroft went, just to annoy his brother. 

_Well... it’s a nice annoyance_ , John thought and smiled as he left the room.

On the stairs he found more models, eyes going even wider and mouth dropping open. There was a Dalek on each step, in many colours and sizes. They got bigger and bigger as the stairs descended, John stopping to admire them all. His favourite was the one on the landing.

It was large, about thirty centimetres tall and thirty wide at the base. It had been made from large and small paper clips, the eye-stalk bent and circled perfectly. It had even been painted in the old Dalek colours; shades of gold and brown, the base black, the neck too, and the eye at the end of the stalk bright blue.

John grinned and bent to look at it closely, wondering if he could touch it.

‘It’s for you.’

John looked up to see Sherlock standing before the stairs, smiling as he watched John.

‘I made it for you, John,’ Sherlock continued, ‘it won’t break apart, you can touch it.’

‘Oh,’ John said slowly and reached out. He ran a finger over the paper clip model, smiling as he did. ‘Sherlock, how’d you do all this?’

‘I looked up some pictures of Daleks and watched the show,’ Sherlock said. ‘I admit that it was difficult, I hurt myself a fair bit.’ He held up his right hand, index finger and thumb wrapped in plaster. ‘But it was worth it.’

‘Sherlock...’ John murmured, standing tall. He still had the first Dalek in his hands and looked down at it. ‘Why did you do all this?’

When he got no answer he looked up, only to find Sherlock standing before him. Sherlock reached out and drew John into his arms, smothering the shorter man in his warmth, his angular body, his cologne.

‘I did all of this because I love you, John, and because today is our one year anniversary.’

John smiled and hugged him back, breathing in deeply. When Sherlock pulled back, he led John into the living room. On the coffee table was a wrapped gift and breakfast; two plates of eggs, bacon, tomato and toast.

‘I made you breakfast,’ Sherlock said.

John’s mouth fell open. ‘H-how...?’

‘Mycroft taught me how to cook,’ Sherlock said.

‘Oh my... wow...’

Sherlock smiled and took John’s hand, making him sit on the couch.

‘I can’t,’ John said, sitting beside Sherlock on the couch. ‘I can’t believe you...’ He was very close to tears and had to sniff.

‘John?’ Sherlock said, eyes filled with worry. ‘Have I done the wrong thing?’

John shook his head quickly. ‘N-no, Sherlock, I just...’

‘Why are you crying?’

John smiled and looked up at his partner. ‘I just thought that you wouldn’t want to celebrate our one year anniversary.’

Sherlock frowned. ‘Why wouldn’t I?’

‘Well, you see Christmas and birthdays as stupid so... I thought this would be the same.’

‘John...’ Sherlock breathed softly. ‘Of course I want to celebrate today.’ He reached across and took the present, handing it to John. ‘Open it.’

John smiled and did, suddenly feeling nervous. He opened the gift delicately and gasped at what fell out.

It was an A5 notebook, coloured TARDIS blue. The front and back had been drawn on, thick black lines that made up the panelling. There was even a keyhole and the white poster that designated it a police box. There was a sign and a light drawn on top and...

John smiled. ‘I can’t believe you, Sherlock.’ Sherlock looked at him quickly and John said, ‘It’s amazing, I love it.’

‘I just know how much you love writing, John, and sometimes you dislike using a laptop.’

John leaned over to kiss Sherlock but the genius held up a hand.

‘Read the inside, the first page.’

John flipped the book open to find a message scrawled in Sherlock’s neat handwriting.

  
  


_This Journal belongs to..._

**The most beautiful person in the world**

  
  


‘Oh, Sherlock,’ John sighed, running a finger over the lines. ‘God, you’re amazing.’

Sherlock smiled, looking pleased with himself.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t get you anything,’ John said.

Sherlock shrugged. ‘You didn’t need to, John.’ He picked up one of the doctor’s hands. ‘You’re all I’ll ever want.’

John smiled and looked back down at the book.

‘John, today marks a very special anniversary for me,’ Sherlock said suddenly and John looked up at him. ‘One year ago today was when you were brave enough to kiss me and tell me how you feel. One year ago today, you held my hand and told me you loved me.’

He paused to run his fingers over John’s smooth, warm skin.

‘One year ago you showed me what it was truly like to live and enjoy life. John, you showed me how seemingly small things can be fun; breakfast, lunch, dinner. Watching television or reading or just cuddling in bed. Sex...’

He trailed off and turned pink, John grinning.

‘Today is very special to me, John, because it’s been the happiest, the _best_ year of my life. I love you, John, with all my heart; just you, for all your abilities and faults.’

‘I love you too, Sherlock,’ John said, squeezing his hand. ‘Don’t doubt that.’

Sherlock smiled. ‘I did a lot of research about Doctor Who because Greg told me how much you love the show. There’s a lot about that Doctor character.’

Sherlock looked up into John’s dark blue eyes, his owned filled with only one emotion; love.

‘You join me in adventures and you keep me grounded. You are humble and sweet and brilliant and amazing.’ He paused once more, eyes wavering slightly. ‘You’re the one, John. You’re my best friend, my partner, the one person who means more to me than anything else. For me, John,’ he said very softly, ‘you are _my_ Doctor. And you are far more extraordinary then any man with a blue box.’

John was frozen in his seat, eyes watering again as Sherlock’s words washed over him. Of course he knew that Sherlock cared deep down, he just didn’t think he was capable of saying it in such kind words.

‘John?’ Sherlock questioned, once again fearing he’d said the wrong thing.

John drew Sherlock in for a hug, arms wrapped around the taller man and face buried in his chest.

‘John?’ Sherlock repeated.

‘Thank you so much, Sherlock,’ John said, voice slightly muffled by Sherlock’s clothing. ‘I can’t believe... God, you really are perfect.’

‘Perfection is unattainable.’

John chuckled and drew back. ‘Only you would take a compliment and turn it back to make me look stupid.’

‘I didn’t mean that.’

John shook his head and wiped at his eyes. ‘Doesn’t matter. It’s one of the reasons I love you.’

Sherlock grinned. ‘I love you too.’

John leaned forward to kiss Sherlock, the genius meeting him halfway. Their lips met gently and both men sighed, never tiring of the small kisses; the feel, the breath, the general... niceness. Neither would ever, ever tire of kissing the other.

‘Happy anniversary, Sherlock,’ John whispered.

‘Happy anniversary... Doctor Watson.’

John chuckled and Sherlock kissed him again.

  
  


{THE END}

  
  



End file.
